Broken Arm
by SupremeMasterOverlordKhurro
Summary: *Title may change* A one-shot about what happened in Drums of Autumn, when Hal realized John wasn't in the camp and their canons had been sabotaged. How he found John and what the punishment was. A small bit of brotherly love and care, but also exasperated older brother dealing with a younger brother who just wants to be a hero.


When Hal had first woken up, he thought the sounds outside his tent were just the usual morning jests over , when a few seconds later he registered the yelling going on outside the tent, the sound of running feet, and arguments that he couldn't quite hear the words of but knew the tone, he jumped out his cot, making sure to pull on some clothes, and rushed outside. He grabbed the first man who ran past.

"What's happening?" He asked, seeing the chaos in the camp. The fact that he hadn't been woken up at the first sign of trouble was infuriating. This was his regiment, dammit!

"The canons, sir! The wheels are gone! All the carts, even the supply ones, have no wheels!"

"The rebels?"

"No one has seen them." The man was practically shaking in his boots. Hal let him go, scanning the camp. Where the hell was John?

"Where's John?" He asked.

"Don't know, sir. Haven't seen him since last night. He went on patrol with Hector. Saw Hector later, but not John."

Hal spun around and disappeared back into his tent, not bothering to verbally dismiss the soldier outside. They weren't under attack at the moment, and if the Scots had been the ones who stole the wheels from their carts, then it wasn't likely they would come charge them now. He wasn't too concerned about John either. Surely his brother had just gotten pulled into the tide of men currently rushing around in the organized chaos. John liked to be in the middle of things and had thus far jumped at any chance to be part of the action. They would have seen the number of men, and even if there was no cart, a canon could still fire. Hal was still grumbling to himself as he pulled on the red coat of his uniform, and made his way back outside.

He made a beeline for where the canons were to assess the danger themselves. The wheels were indeed gone. The canons were otherwise appeared undamaged.

"Check these over and make sure the insides weren't damaged. I don't want them blowing up next time we try to use them." He ordered one of the crew, and then went to check anything else that may have been damaged. In the process he also kept an eye out for Johnny, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. After checking their supply wagons (some food had been stolen, along with the wheels), he ran into Hector.

"Dalrymple!" He called out to get the man's attention, and Hector turned, instantly at attention. He was a good soldier, but personally Hal thought John was much more skilled even at just 16. Hector was 21. "Where's John?" He asked.

Hal knew about the relationship between the two. He had walked in on them on accident one day, and would have attacked Hector if he hadn't seen John's expression as he looked at the man. The tenderness, the gentle caress of his face, and Hal had finally had the solid evidence that John was homosexual. He had suspected, after seeing the lack of reaction around women, but now he knew for sure. By law, he should have punished them both. He could have had Hector sentenced to death and accused him of trying to rape John. But that look on his little brother's face… He couldn't risk that resentment. And if John had been found out and killed, Hal would never be able to live with that.

"I thought he would have been with you, sir. I haven't seen him since patrol last night." Dalrymple shook his head.

Now Hal was getting concerned. "Did anything happen on the patrol? Did he say anything before you left him?"

"No, the patrol was quiet. Afterwards, he claimed he wasn't really feeling well and that he was going to go to bed early."

In John's language, that meant he was up to something. Even when he was little, if John said he wasn't feeling well, it was a 50-50 shot that it was true. Half the time, he just used it as an excuse to either get out of doing something he didn't want to do, or to escape someone so he could something that was likely very stupid and dangerous.

"Get some men together and start searching the surrounding area." Hal ordered, and with that, the flurry of activity in the camp changed. It was no longer a search for their missing wheels but for their commander's younger brother.

The longer they searched, the more nervous Hal became. Where was John? Had the Jacobites taken him? He had men searching all through the woods, and that's when he heard the snapping of a twig and a frustrated growl that he knew all too well.

"John?" He looked around, listening closely for any more sound. Hal was searching by himself.

"Hal?" He couldn't describe the relief he felt at the sound of that voice. John was alive. A few more steps forward brought into sight his brother, tied to a tree with his blond hair a mess, his face flushed with pain, legs tightly crossed. The ropes wrapped mostly around his stomach, pinning his arms down.

Hal rushed forward, pulling out his knife as he did so and getting to work on cutting his brother free.

"How the bloody hell did you end up tied to a tree?" He asked.

"Ow, watch the arm!" John hissed as Hall pulled a bit on the rope, which made it move against John's arm, which, now that he could see it better, was definitely broken. He moved more carefully.

"Answer my question."

"When I was patrolling with Hector, I spotted Red Jaime in the Jacobite camp. I thought I could get into the camp and slit his throat, but he caught me. He broke my arm and was going to torture me until I gave him information, but I refused to tell him anything. He could torture me all he wanted!" John spun around as soon as the ropes were off, fumbling with the laces of his breeches with the hand of the non-broken arm. He sighed with relief as he was finally able to relieve him.

"How did you end up tied to a tree?" Hal repeated. Apparently, he had been tied to the tree for several hours.

"They had an englishwoman. He would have raped her and passed her around to his men if I didn't give them information." He sounded ashamed of it, and Hal knew that if he was facing him, John would probably not meet his eyes. His brother had wanted nothing more than to be accepted and respected by the men in the regiment. He knew he had failed them this time.

"So you gave them the information?" Hal glared at the back of the blonde head.

"They said if it was true, they would leave me tied to a tree so the men would find me in the morning." He finished and turned around to face Hal, but was looking the ground.

"You betrayed us to them?" One of the men stepped out from behind the trees, and John flinched. Hal silently cursed. This information would spread like wildfire amongst the men. There would be no way to try to protect John from this, no way to try to cover it up.

"The lady-"

"Was probably raped and passed around anyway!" The man, Joseph Templeton, snapped.

"Enough, Templeton. Go call off the search and start having the men pack up the camp. And a group to find or make new wheels. I'll deal with John." Hal glared at him, and Joseph left, glaring daggers at John. When he was gone, Hal turned back to his brother, who appeared to be swaying a little on his feet.

"I can't believe you would do something so stupid, John. You're lucky no one got killed! You're lucky _you _weren't killed! What the hell were you thinking!?" He snapped at him. John didn't answer. "Did you think you could end the war? Be some big hero? That only works in stories, John!"

"I'm sorry." John mumbled. He looked pathetic, standing there with his head down, broken arm cradled close to him. Hal sighed in frustration, and put a hand on John's shoulder to steady him.

"I should have left you in London. At least then I wouldn't have to deal with all the trouble that follows you everywhere." He said, sounding more tired than angry. Trouble followed John like a loyal dog. It would have been easier to leave him in London, but then he would have probably done something else stupid, like join a different regiment and get himself killed because no one would be able to protect him. At least in Hal's regiment, he could keep an eye on him. Most of the time. "Come on. Let's get your arm set and get you something to eat while I try to figure out a punishment that would appease the men."

He lead John back to the camp in silence. His brother stumbled a few times, but managed to stay on his feet. His clenched jaw was the only sign of how upset and in pain he was, but he didn't cry or protest. Hal could remember what John was very young, probably 5 or 6, and if he ever got in trouble, he would protest and argue his punishment and make it worse for himself in the end. The temper tantrums of a spoiled little boy were something to behold, when you weren't the one who had to deal with them. Thankfully, he had grown out that. Mostly.

When they got to the camp, several of the men glared in John's direction. So Templeton had already started spreading the story. Hopefully the surgeon hadn't heard it yet.

Naturally, the surgeon had heard it. He was unnecessarily rough when examining John's arm, and didn't give him anything for the pain. Hal had left John with him in order to go find something for breakfast, and had therefore not been aware of this until he came back with a roll for John, and found his brother sitting on the log in the surgeon's tent, holding a newly splinted arm close. His eyes were clenched tightly shut, though this didn't quite stop the few tears from running down, and he was rocking slightly. John had a very high pain tolerance for a boy of 16, and so Hal could only imagine what methods the surgeon had used to exam and set the broken bones.

"He should be fine in a few weeks." The surgeon, whom was called Fred, grunted. Then he walked away, going off to chop herbs or something. Hal only glare after him, and then went to sit beside John and offer him the bread.

"Eat. We're moving out soon, and you'll need your strength. Since the Jacobites stole the wheels on all our carts because you told them our position, you're walking on foot." Hal told him. He knew he would need to think of a better punishment, since he doubted this would be good enough to satisfy the men, but he didn't want to be too harsh either. No one had gotten hurt other than John, and while this was a setback in their progress, it could have been much worse. Besides, walking while pretty much everyone else rode horses would be hell. Add in a sleepless night, the bruises and cuts that Hal could now see on him, and a broken arm, and John would think twice about doing something as stupid again. And perhaps, just maybe, the men would be sympathetically by the end of the day to not demand a worse punishment.

John opened his eyes and took the bread, though his bites were small and he didn't seem to have much appetite. He didn't protest his punishment or speak at all.

Hal kept an eye on John as they marched on. Part of the regiment would be staying behind to get the carts and canons rolling again. The rest were heading onward to meet with Cope and hopefully stop the Jacobite advancements. The men by this point had all heard of what happened, and they glared at John, ignored him, and a few spit on him when Hal wasn't looking. Hector seemed to be only one taking some pity on him. When someone had rushed by on a horse and bumped John's broken arm, Hector had stopped to wait for him as John vomited from the pain, and had given him a bit of whiskey to keep him up.

But John didn't complain the whole time. Even when Hal saw him struggling to keep him, when he was white with pain and stumbling along. When they finally stopped for the day just before sunset, John had tried to help them unpack things, but had been chased off by the men who said he would do nothing but get in the way since his arm was broken. He retreated off to the edge of their camp and sat down heavily on the soft ground. Hal went over to check on him, Hector having gone to help unpack more.

"How are you feeling?" He asked gently.

"Like an idiot." John replied. "Sick. Useless."

Hal sighed, and put a hand against John's sweaty forehead. He could feel the fever burning. "I should send you back to London. Your arm would heal better there."

"Don't. I want to stay. I have to fix what I did." John protested, looking at Hal pleadingly.

"How many Scots were in the camp?"

"Fewer than your regiment, but still a lot. We outnumber them about six to one, I think. It was hard to tell in the dark. There were six or seven around the fire when Red Jaime was threatening me."

"You attacked him with that many people there!?"

"No! He had left the group to piss, and I attacked him them. He brought me over to them."

John was shivering now. Hal looked back and saw someone had set up his tent.

"Come on. You need to rest. I want the rest of the story later."

Usually, John slept in one of the tents with the other men. He was the lowest rank here, technically, not being old enough to soldier yet. But Hal wasn't sure the others would allow him in, and it was going to be a cold night. So he brought John into his own tent and had an extra cot and blankets brought in. John laid on the extra one and Hal helped him arrange the blankets since he was struggling to do so with one hand.

"I'll bring you something to eat." He said, and left. But when he came back only a few minutes later, John was already asleep. He was curled in a tight ball, the blankets wrapped around him tightly though he still shivered a bit. He looked uncomfortable and miserable, even in his sleep, but at least he was sleeping.

Hal only watched him for a few minutes. He had decided that John had been punished for his actions enough. He knew his brother wouldn't do something so stupid again. The humiliation of failure, the broken arm, the glares of the men and the grudge they would all undoubtedly hold, along with the walking all day would be enough. Everyone made mistakes. John was young, and new to war. No one else had gotten hurt. Hal rolled up the cheese, bread, and apple he had gotten in a cloth, and laid it by John's bed so he could eat it when he woke up, if he happened to wake up before tomorrow. The boy was exhausted, and probably would sleep well into tomorrow if Hal would let him. But they had to move out again in the morning.

**I **_**should**_ **be working on the two presentations I have on Thursday, but I wrote this instead because I love John, the world's purest little Red Coat, and wish there more stories about him. **


End file.
